


tight spots; or, five times Stiles and Peter may or may not have been together, and one time they definitely were

by sinequanon



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:34:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24186712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Maybe they're dating, or maybe they're ten seconds away from killing each other. It's kind of hard to tell.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 26
Kudos: 551





	tight spots; or, five times Stiles and Peter may or may not have been together, and one time they definitely were

**Author's Note:**

> After the emotional battering of my last fic, I'm glad to be able to give you guys something a bit lighter. This is largely snark, though there is a glossed over panic attack in part five. It's not necessarily written in chronological order, though I suppose it could be. This is also unedited, so if you see any glaring mistakes, feel free to point them out and I'll fix them eventually.

"It's a shame you put all that work into keeping Scott alive in high school," Peter growled, "only to see him killed a decade later." He punctuated his threat with a bark of pain as his elbow hit the window, and Stiles might have defended Scott if he didn't feel like killing his best friend himself.

This was why Scott was not allowed to be in charge of pack-related planning--no matter how good his intentions, he _always_ forgot something. It was never something small, either. In this case, it meant that instead of staying at the perfectly serviceable hotel in a small town at the edge of the Arizona desert, Stiles and Peter were sleeping in their SUV because all of the hotels in the county were booked for some craft festival.

Scott would have known this of course, had he done a little research, but he'd let Deaton talk him into sending Stiles and Peter on a wild goose chase for some probably-mythical magical artifact.

Frankly, it would have been suspicious if it had been anyone other than Scott asking. But it _was_ Scott, so Stiles was taking his sleeping-in-the-SUV-in-the-desert-where-it-still-gets-cold-at-night experience in stride. Mostly.

It had been fun up to this point, driving out to Arizona, visiting various shops and magical practitioners, looking for this probably-not-real thing. Peter got along better with Stiles than anyone else in the pack, and the two of them made a good team. Peter always took Stiles seriously, and Stiles helped Peter lighten up a little. Neither of them actually thought the amulet in question existed, but they didn't mind spending Deaton's money to not-find it, either

The problems started when they reached their final stop on their artifact hunt; what should have been a tiny, nondescript border town was overflowing with tourists and no place to stay.

Camping was out of the question. Fast forward to spending the night in a vehicle that had heated seats, a moon roof, and countless other enticements, but was horrible for sleeping. Both Stiles and Peter were too tall to comfortably rest in the front seats, and laying across the back ones was an exercise in frustration.

"Maybe we could put the back seats down and lay down together?"

"Why Stiles, are you asking to cuddle?"

The human groaned. "Sure, yes, I'll even be the little spoon if we can just get some sleep."

It wasn't a bad idea, actually. And if Peter liked spooning, that was no one's business but his own.

(Peter would admit, much, much later, that it was one of the best night's sleep he ever had.)

<> <>

"Go away," Stiles hissed lowly, reaching out as quietly as he could to push the creeper next to him, who didn't even pretend to budge. "This is my bush. Go find your own hiding spot!"

Instead, Peter smirked and inched closer until their knees were touching. It should have been awkward, two men crouched behind a bush with questionably large flowers while the monster of the week ran amok, but the connection was surprisingly grounding. And kind of tingly, if Stiles thought about it.

Stiles did not think about it. Neither did Peter because frankly, now was not the time for that sort of thing.

The two waited in silence for the next few minutes while the creature searched the area, looking behind or inside any number of things, but staying far away from Stiles and Peter.

So far, in fact, that it made Stiles a little nervous. After all, a bush wasn't exactly a great hiding spot; even before Peter had shown up, Stiles had felt like he was in an episode of _Scooby Doo._

(He half-expected Scott, Isaac, and Allison to all pop out from behind the same skinny tree any second now.)

But no, two grown men had hidden behind a conveniently placed bush while a monster with a highly-developed olfactory sense had totally overlooked them for a good fifteen minutes.

Don't get him wrong; this bush was Stiles's favorite among bushes. Its flowers were nice and it smelled pretty good and it had kept him and Peter from getting eaten, but the whole situation was a little weird.

Speaking of: "Do you recognize this bush at all?" 

"Just because I'm a werewolf doesn't mean I know every bit of nature in the forest, Stiles," Peter scoffed, but he also gave the plant a critical glance as he helped Stiles stand.

"Well, do you remember seeing flowers this big in the preserve before?" He took a step back, and unconsciously pulled Peter along with him. "Or that color? And weren't they more...purple-ish before?"

The werewolf took another look at the flowers and frowned. "They _do_ seem more red than they were a few minutes ago. Maybe we'll come back and take another look after our current problem has been dealt with."

It wasn't an answer, but what could they do? Besides, Bob the Bush had saved their lives today--it would surely be fine for a while longer.

And as long as the two of them worked on it together, Stiles was confident they could solve the problem.

(Just take it easy in the meantime, okay Bob?) 

<> <>

It wasn't as if northern California was endless sun and fun, but a snowstorm in August was either a freak of nature or (more likely) something supernatural.

It didn't really matter, though, because if Stiles died in a cave in the middle of a summer snowstorm, he was going to become the most annoying poltergeist in the history of noisy ghosts. 

The good news was that he definitely wouldn't freeze--it was still 80 degrees outside. The bad news was that the storm had dropped about a foot of snow in the last hour, and it showed no signs of stopping.

Also, he couldn't feel his toes. He _liked_ his toes.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure they're wonderful toes," Peter griped, "but not really applicable to the problem at hand."

And, really, Stiles would have been annoyed at Peter's annoyance except now that the werewolf mentioned it, Stiles couldn't feel his hands, either.

That was probably bad. So maybe he _was_ going to freeze to death in a summer snowstorm. Damn his luck.

"Question: under what circumstances might you let me use you as my emotional support werewolf while also letting me keep all of my organs afterwards?"

Peter raised his eyebrow in that really annoying way that made Stiles almost want to kill him, if only it wouldn't take too much effort. "What are the chances that Scott won't fall in love with the next girl who smiles at him in public?"

(Well, then.)

"What if I promise to pretend that I don't know you for two weeks afterwards?"

Peter's second eyebrow reached up to join the first. "One month, and you replace the rug Erica ruined last weekend."

"I know that you know that I can't afford that, and even if I could, that rug was hideous, and you only had it so you could enjoy the way Derek's face scrunched up every time he saw it. Three weeks, and I take you out for a burger."

"Make it Italian, at a place with actual tablecloths, and I suppose we have a deal."

Stiles practically dove into Peter's space with a bear hug that squeezed a huff out of Peter, but the werewolf also put his arms around Stiles, so.

It was kind of nice, actually, if you ignored the storm. Which they did, for about ten minutes, when reality set back in.

"We have to get out of here before the snow gets any higher," Stiles said, mostly into Peter's shirt, "but the snow is too deep for me to walk in and the phones are dead."

"I could just leave you here."

"Sure--and you're going to explain that to my dad how, exactly?"

"Who says I would stay around long enough to tell him?"

" _Peter_."

"Fine. I suppose you'll have to get on my back."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at Peter, but the werewolf didn't blink. "Are you serious?"

"Would you rather I throw you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?"

"Okay, but if anyone gets a picture of us I'm putting Nair in your shampoo."

<> <>

"You two will let me know if you need anything, all right?"

It wasn't really a question, and it was one of the things Stiles loved most about his dad. Anyone else in the pack would have mocked or teased the two of them for their predicament, but his dad had just let them in, given them a place to lay low, and asked what he could do to help.

Oh, Stiles could see that gleam in his dad's eyes, but they both knew that Noah Stilinski would keep his questions to himself so long as no one was in danger. Peter knew it too, if the almost-amicable way he settled in was any indication.

At least until ten seconds after his dad had left the room.

"Would you _stop_ moving?" Peter huffed, torn between pushing the younger man away and using his entire body weight to _make_ Stiles stop moving. "I thought you grew out of your incessant need to wiggle during college?"

Stiles had thought that he was doing pretty well, actually, considering that the two of them were practically breathing each other's air, but evidently, Prince Peter was unsatisfied.

"Excuse me for being distracted by your...you-ness," Stiles said, deliberately pushing further into Peter's space. He was rewarded with a sound halfway between a snarl and a whine for his efforts.

Stiles wasn't sure what to make of that noise, but he decided to file it under "Awkward Magic-Induced Events" and think about it only after he was alone, and not spending the night pressed against Peter Hale in his childhood bed.

Before this, Stiles hadn't actually minded that his dad had left the room mostly as is when Stiles had moved out, but now it just felt uncomfortable.

Peter was never going to let him hear the end of it, but at least it would stay between the two of them and his dad.

(And probably Tara, but Stiles wasn't about to mention that to Peter.)

The pair spent a few minutes adjusting and readjusting to get comfortable until Stiles was laying half on top of Peter, and Peter had an arm and a leg thrown over Stiles.

"I'm sorry I didn't get out of the way fast enough," Stiles offered into the ensuing silence.

Their heads were close enough together that Stiles felt rather than saw Peter's shrug. "It's not your fault that Scott is too tenderhearted, or that the rest of them indulge him. You wouldn't have been in a position to get hit by that spell if Scott had kicked her out of the territory in the first place." 

Which was true, but it wasn't something that Stiles expected Peter to say.

"How long do you think we'll be stuck like this?"

"I should hope that things will be back to normal in the morning. I have brunch plans that I don't want to miss."

Stiles snorted, and twisted just enough to make Peter have to resituate as well. "Oh, well, I wouldn't want you to miss the chance to dine on someone else's Eggs Benedict and champagne. What else could you possibly have to gloat about but your cooking prowess?"

"Why Stiles, two compliments in one evening? Whatever will your father think?"

"You can ask him yourself when he undoubtedly checks on us in an hour."

<> <>

Stiles came awake slowly. His eyes seemed almost glued shut, and there was something heavy on top of him, pushing him down. His hand curled into the softness beneath him, and he realized with a start that his fingers were pressing into damp soil.

He tried prying his eyes open once more, and when that didn't work, he tried to recall where he was and how he'd gotten there.

He and Peter had been hunting for a gorgon-like creature that had already blinded three people. It had been a few hours, Stiles remembered, when the rain had started to fall, and he'd gotten turned around in the preserve. He'd slipped and fallen into this--crater? den? pit?--and he thought he'd seen someone looking down from above moments before he'd heard a noise to his left and everything went black.

Stiles attempted to open his eyes once more and tried to calm the sudden hammering in his chest. Had the gorgon gotten to him? Was he blind? His heartbeat clicked up another notch and his breath started to catch, only for the weight on his chest to shift slightly forward to grab his hands.

"Stiles," Peter's voice registered. "You're okay, Stiles. Just breathe."

"But--"

"You're fine, Stiles. I promise." Peter's hands moved to grasp Stiles's forearms, grounding them both. "We're okay."

Peter moved off of Stiles and pulled the younger man into his side while they both breathed.

"How did you end up down here with me?"

"With your head injury, I thought you might not be able to distinguish between the gorgon and I, and it would be a pity for you to blind yourself on accident."

"So…"

Peter sighed heavily against his neck, but said, matter of factly, "I jumped down to keep you from accidentally looking up at the gorgon. You're the only person in the pack that I can stand."

Stiles's heart jolted before the werewolf added, "As it turns out, I needn't have bothered. The naga had already spit on you."

Stiles frowned. "What? Why?"

"Who knows why all of the creatures like you? You're probably the first person to fall into her den in years."

"No, why did she spit on me?"

"She saved you from the gorgon. Your eyes are essentially glued shut until we wash the spit out."

"Gross!"

"It's better than being dead. And now, I don't have to explain to your father that you fell into a hole and accidentally killed yourself."

"Your concern absolutely warms my heart," Stiles grumbled, but he also leaned a little further into Peter.

"As well it should; now we have to find a way out of this hole before the rest of the pack finds us."

<> <> <>

The door creaked open excruciatingly slowly, immediately bringing to mind all of those stupid ghost movies that Stiles had made him watch in the name of research. Peter would have been irritated at both of them if he wasn't already on edge.

There was a reason the slow, creaking door was a staple of horror movies, though, and Peter held himself perfectly still while he waited to see what would happen next. Of course, there wasn't much he could do from the corner of the walk-in closet where he was hiding, but at least he'd have the element of surprise if anything came in after him.

The door opened barely halfway before a distinctive heartbeat reached Peter's ears and his arm shot out to pull Stiles inside.

In almost no time at all, the door was shut once more and the two men were left staring at each other in the darkness.

(Well, Stiles was squinting and glaring, and Peter was smirking at the human's barely cut off squeak of surprise, but close enough.)

Fortunately, Peter also had the presence of mind to slap a hand over Stiles's mouth as he hauled the other man into the closet; otherwise, who knew who or what might have heard them?

(If Peter thought about it, this whole situation really was like something out of a horror movie: patently ridiculous yet somehow terrifying. Even if he didn't care overmuch for the rest of the pack, the thought of them being hunted down and devoured by some nameless monster was a bit nausea-inducing.)

Stiles obviously realized who had him, because he relaxed almost immediately; he even leaned back slightly, into the werewolf's space, and Peter couldn't help but preen.

Which meant, of course, that Stiles just had to ruin the moment by licking his hand. Peter didn't dare say anything on the off chance the monster could hear them, so he retaliated by pinching Stiles in the side and then spinning the other man around.

Now they really were staring at each other.

(As much as they could in the dark, anyway.)

Stiles licked his lips, and Peter breathed into his ear, "If you make one joke about a monster hiding in your closet I will make you regret it."

Stiles's, "Promise?" was barely a whisper. His heart was already pounding from running around before, but he wouldn't have been surprised if there was a special gear in there just for proximity to Peter. He fake batted his eyelashes and made a pretend show of looking around the closet. "You know, neither of us are virgins. We'd probably be fine."

"I'm not making out in a closet like a teenager, Stiles."

"It's a walk-in; it's not like it's cramped." 

"Oh. Well, that's all right, then," Peter said drily.

Stiles wrapped his arms around his werewolf's waist and leaned forward until they were pressed together. "Isaac got spooked about twenty minutes ago and ran off into the woods. The rest of the pack chased after him and the whatever-it-was followed them." Peter could feel the curve of Stiles's grin from where it was hidden in his shoulder. "We have at least a half an hour before anyone comes back."

And Peter wanted to be mad about that, really, but..."Has anyone ever told you that you're a horrible person?" he asked, smiling widely.

"I practice."

"And you really want to have sex in my nephew's closet?"

"No, not particularly," Stiles conceded, reaching for Peter's shirt, "but think of his _face_."

They both grinned.

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe, everyone, and thanks for reading!


End file.
